


In the Valley

by meroune



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 12:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17746172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meroune/pseuds/meroune
Summary: Drabbles of Gerome and Noire post awakening.





	1. home

A great shriek echoed throughout the valley, wind whipping dust into the air as the onyx scaled wyvern lowered herself, and her rider, to the ground. Noire was there waiting, hand raised over her face to shield her eyes as she watched the pair descend. 

“Welcome home.” She said warmly once the two settled, the dark clad rider quickly moving to embrace her gently, a soft smile on his face and one hand resting on the wyvern’s snout.   
Just as quickly, he moved away to untie the bindings on his mount’s back, locking the supplied he’d been out to get securely on her back. 

“Uneventful trip, but we should have plenty to satisfy Severa now.” He said offhandedly, lifting a case of whatever meats and cooking stock he’d acquired in the Rosanne market. Opening the crate slightly, he brought out an apple, lightly tossing it towards his wife. 

“Thank you, Minerva,” He smiled, shouldering his way into their small home in the heart of Wyvern Valley. Noire quietly followed after him, savoring the fruit that refused to grow in the valley; and she had tried to seed them many times over.

“She’ll be here tomorrow, so you’d better be ready to cook mister.” She prodded, moving to help him in storing away their new provisions. “The cucumbers and tomatoes are just about ready for their first harvest.” She grinned, reaching on her toes to shelf a bag of salt. 

“And the berries?”

“Bushes sprouting up all over the valley, as per usual. The sheep are already tearing into the blackberries.”

“Thank you, Noire.” He gently brushed aside her straw-colored hair to kiss her forehead. “I’m glad to be home.” He said simply. Shopping trips, so to speak, always took a couple days to complete so far out of the valley. 

She giggled softly, ever susceptible to her spouse’s tenderhearted displays of affection. She looked up to him and cupped her hand around his cheek line, where once she would be met with the touch of a cold mask rather than warm skin. He’d long since abandoned that veil he hid behind for so many years. 

They stayed like that for a moment, both content to simple be in one another’s presence once again, Gerome’s hands lightly falling to rest on her hips. At least until the olive-toned woman pinched his cheeks, dodging away as her husband’s face scrunched in scrutiny.

She laughed brightly then, “Don’t be such a wet fish Gerome! You just looked too handsome as always. I missed you.” She was blushing now, but grinning ear to ear as she rolled her signature feather between two fingers. Before he could reply— (shy, still shy. His face a familiar cherry red to her) she opened the door to their comfortable home, to which Minerva promptly stuck her own head in. 

“The ewes are looking adorable. I bet they missed you too!” Noire mused while holding Minerva’s face between her hands, kissing the tip of her snout warmly. 

“Show me then,” He finally muttered, an embarrassed smile still tugging on his face as he maneuvered out the door around his wyvern and his wife, absently patting a hand on the top of Noire’s head as he passed. 

Outside he took a deep breath of his home, their home balanced where the flat valley just begins to peak up into the mountains surrounding it. Far below he could see the tell-tale speckles of white dotting the land.

The irony of a Shepard becoming a Shepard did not escape him. 

But he was happy here, his simple life with the two he cares most about. A long war behind them now, and a great hope to never fight again resting with both of them. Here, they gardened and tended sheep, living amongst the wyverns Gerome so loved peacefully. To be sure, there was no safer place for a herd to be than protected by the wyverns of the valley who respected Gerome and Minerva both. 

Weapons laid down long ago, a crook weighing in his hand instead, Gerome moved to descend into the valley, Noire’s hand entwined with his own.


	2. chicken noodle soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noire gets sick a lot.

Noire sniffles.

  
She had always been prone to sickness, and Gerome could do little more than fuss over her and worry—which was exactly what he was doing now. Hovering over their bedside, making sure she always had water and a cool cloth. She usually would try to shoo him off to get actual work done, but in her current state she didn’t seem to have the mind to.

  
The fever worried him, and not for the first time he cursed himself for dragging her out to live in the middle of nowhere.

Alright, he didn’t drag her. Of course, it was her choice, and really, she was the much more persistent of the two.  
He held her hand, and she weakly squeezed back.

  
+

  
He chopped the carrots precisely, and then celery too with practiced graceful movements. That’s what Noire said, anyway. That he seemed to belong in a kitchen.

  
The onion made his eyes sting. He did not cry.

  
He slid them all into pot silently. Salt, pepper and the last of their oil. He frowned. A trouble for later.

  
Switching gears, he plucked a shiny green apple from the bag they had hanging from the cabinet. Noire and Minerva both held an affinity for them, but this was for the one not currently bedridden.  
The wyvern could certainly eat it whole, but he cut it into the even slices anyway, listening to the quiet bubbling of the food behind him. He removed the seeds and set them aside—Noire was still very persistent about planting them, though they never seeded.

  
The slices were gathered in his cooking apron as he stepped outside their home, (their home, always a nice thought, no matter how many years passed.) He whistled, loud and echoing in the valley. It didn’t take long to hear the beat of wings, she never strayed far.

  
When she landed close as she could to the house, she immediately pressed her nose directly in Gerome’s face, which prompted a tired smile from him. He held a slice of the apple up to her, which she accepted carefully, getting comfortable in the grass.

  
It didn’t take long for the entire apple to be gone, and Gerome simply patted the bridge of her face and returned to the kitchen.  
He plucked a sprig of rosemary from the window planter, washing it and adding it to the pot, along with a by-the-eye measure of chicken broth. He left it to boil and took up his mending left on the table to pass the time.

  
His stitching was just as careful as everything else he did.

  
Once the broth boiled, he turned it to simmer and set a separate pan of noodles on the oven to cook.

  
Retrieving the cured chicken from the cellar was the next step, and it wasn’t hard to navigate. Besides the fact it was his home, the cellar was rather small, barely a room and smartly packed. Up the ladder and out, he set the trapdoor gently.

  
After he’d washed the excess salt off of the chicken and while he was cutting it into fine chunks, Minerva’s head appeared through the kitchen window. He only glanced at her and shook his head, shaking the chicken from the cutting board into the pot.  
Almost done.

  
The floor creaked slightly under his boots as he walked down the (very short) hall to open the bedroom door, peering inside to check on Noire. She still looked disheveled but was sitting up now and smiled softly. _Not to worry_ , it said. He nodded and dipped away without a word.

  
It was a simple affair to pour the soup in with a handful of noodles. The ceramic bowl had been a gift from their most frequent visitor, Severa, and just as red as she. He placed it gently in Noire’s lap, heat shielded with a cloth.

  
He knew she’d rather have the dignity of feeding herself, and he disappeared again to store the leftover for later. When he returned, she looked a bit better.  
A bit brighter, at least, when she smiled and thanked him.

  
_Of course._ He softened, leaning down to kiss her warm forehead.  
What were husbands for?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This couple isn't super popular but is near and dear to my heart. I hope I did it some justice, I'm not particularly confident in my writing but here it is.


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